Chapter 15
fifteen
Vivi woke with Dom’s arm still around her waist, his breath warm against the back of her neck.
For one disoriented moment, she let herself sink into the familiar comfort of his body curved around hers.
Then reality crashed in—Sabin’s broken fingers, Praetorian’s threats, today’s mission—and she slid from beneath Dom’s arm with practiced care.
The gentle intimacy of last night had no place in what came next.
Today wasn’t about feelings or forgiveness. Today was about the vault.
She showered quickly, letting the scalding water wash away the remnants of sleep and vulnerability.
By the time she emerged, wrapped in a plush white towel, Dom was up and checking his equipment one last time—the miniaturized tools, the communications devices disguised as ordinary jewelry, the small explosives that looked like breath mints.
“Morning.” His voice was neutral, professional, but his eyes lingered on her bare shoulders a beat too long.
“We need to be ready in twenty,” she said, moving past him to the closet where her clothes hung in perfect order. She selected a cream linen dress—tasteful, expensive, the kind of thing that belonged at a high-end resort. The kind of thing that would draw exactly zero suspicious glances.
Dom nodded and disappeared into the bathroom.
She dressed methodically, sliding into silk underwear and arranging herself in the dress with practiced precision.
She applied minimal makeup, just enough to look polished but not enough to register as trying too hard.
Her hair she left loose around her shoulders—casual but elegant.
Last came the jewelry: diamond studs, a thin gold bracelet with a clasp that could double as a lock pick, and a delicate necklace with a pendant that concealed a powerful signal disruptor.
By the time Dom emerged, she was already seated at the vanity, running through the plan in her mind one more time.
“You look perfect,” he said, watching her in the mirror.
“That’s the point.” She turned to face him. “We’ve got exactly forty-three minutes in the security rotation gap. You need to be in position behind the storage panel by the time I’m inside the vault. Stavros will stay with me in the corridor.”
“I know the plan, Viv.” He pulled on a light blue shirt that made his eyes even more striking. “I’ve done this before.”
“Not here. Not with these stakes.” She stood and smoothed her dress. “If Stavros suspects anything—”
“He already suspects something.” Dom stepped closer, his voice dropping. “We just need him to suspect the wrong thing. Keep playing the jealous girlfriend angle. It worked before.”
Vivi nodded. The cover they’d established—that she was checking on her assets because she didn’t trust Dom not to drain their joint accounts during an increasingly bitter breakup—was believable enough. Especially after their staged argument at breakfast yesterday, loud enough for the staff to hear.
“Are your comms online?” she asked.
Dom touched the sleek watch on his wrist. “Ready whenever you are.” He hesitated, then reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture was intimate, protective. “Be careful down there.”
“I always am.” She forced herself to step away from his touch. “Let’s go. We need to sell this.”
They left the suite and made their way through the villa’s main floor, where staff moved with practiced invisibility.
Dom’s arm settled around her waist as they walked, the perfect picture of a couple on vacation.
His fingers squeezed slightly at her hip when they passed the hallway that led to the wine cellar—his exit route.
“Vivianna.” Stavros’s voice came from behind them, smooth and cultured. “I hope you slept well.”
Vivi turned, a practiced smile already in place. “Stavros. Yes, thank you. The accommodations are as perfect as I remember.”
Stavros nodded, his silver hair catching the morning light. His linen suit today was a soft gray, impeccably tailored. His eyes missed nothing as they swept over her, then Dom.
“I’ve arranged for your visit to the vault level, as requested.” He smiled, all charm and no warmth. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Actually,” Dom cut in, “I’ve decided to sit by the pool this morning. All this talk about finances gives me a headache.” He flashed the grin that had charmed information out of hardened operatives. “I’m sure you’ll take good care of her, Stavros.”
Stavros inclined his head slightly. “Of course, Mr. Wilde. The west terrace has the best sun this time of day.”
Vivi shot Dom a look of mild irritation—perfectly calibrated to fit their cover story. “Try not to empty the bar while I’m gone.”
Dom’s laugh was easy, practiced. He kissed her cheek and whispered, “Forty-three minutes,” before sauntering toward the terrace doors.
She watched him go, letting annoyance play across her features before turning back to Stavros. “Shall we?”
Stavros gestured toward the corridor leading to the lower levels. “After you.”
They walked in companionable silence for a few moments, footsteps echoing against the polished floors.
The transition from resort to secure facility was subtle—the art on the walls growing more valuable but less ostentatious, the lighting shifting from warm ambiance to functional brightness, the air becoming noticeably cooler.
“It’s been some time since your last visit,” Stavros remarked as they approached the elevator. “Nearly six years, I believe.”
“Has it been that long?” Vivi kept her tone light. “Time flies when you’re building a business.”
“Indeed.” The elevator arrived silently, doors sliding open. “Your fashion line has been quite successful. I saw your fall collection featured in Vogue.” He smiled as they stepped inside. “The Byzantine influences were particularly striking.”
Her heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t a coincidence that he mentioned Byzantine. It was a probe—a gentle reminder that he knew exactly what she kept in her vault. That nothing escaped his notice.
“You’re too kind,” she replied smoothly as the elevator descended. “I’ve always been drawn to historical influences.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “History has a way of resurfacing when we least expect it.”
The elevator doors opened to reveal the vault level—a corridor of gleaming white stone and subtle lighting, more reminiscent of an art gallery than a secure storage facility.
Two security personnel stood at attention near the main desk.
They nodded respectfully to Stavros, but their eyes tracked Vivi with professional suspicion.
“Ms. Cavalier will be accessing her vault,” Stavros told them. “Standard protocol.”
No matter how many times she heard her real name here, it always jarred her. Everywhere else in the world, she was Vivianna Claire, a successful designer with wealthy clients. Only here was she Vivianna Cavalier, former thief with secrets worth protecting.
The security officer checked her ID, then led her to a biometric scanner. “Palm and retina, please.”
She complied, placing her hand on the cool surface and leaning forward so the scanner could read her eye pattern. The machine hummed softly, then beeped in confirmation.
“Identity confirmed,” the officer said. “You may proceed.”
Stavros walked with her to the reinforced door of Vault 237. “I’ll wait here,” he said, settling into one of the sleek chairs positioned along the corridor. “Take all the time you need.”
Vivi nodded her thanks, keenly aware that his courtesy was as much surveillance as it was service. What did he know? What did he suspect? She’d stopped trying to guess. With Stavros, the perfect hospitality was both genuine and calculated, the warmth real and the watchfulness constant.
She entered the final code—her parents’ anniversary—and heard the satisfying click of the lock disengaging. The heavy door swung open with well-oiled precision, revealing the small, climate-controlled room beyond.
She stepped inside alone, hearing the door seal shut behind her.
Forty-one minutes left.
The vault was exactly as she remembered it—small, sterile, temperature-controlled to preserve whatever treasures the client deemed worthy of this kind of security.
Vivi’s eyes adjusted to the subtly different lighting as she moved deeper into the space.
Three years. It had been three years since she’d stood in this room, looking at these remnants of a life she’d tried to leave behind.
The life where she’d been Sabin’s partner, not just his sister.
The life before everything went to hell in Istanbul.
She checked her watch. Forty minutes left before the next security rotation.
Dom would be moving through the service corridors by now, using the access point they’d identified near the wine cellar.
If everything went according to plan, he’d already have bypassed the first checkpoint and be working on creating an entry point to the lower level.
Focus, Vivi.
The safe deposit boxes lined the walls, each with its own biometric lock. She went straight to the one at the back, placing her palm against the scanner. Another soft beep of confirmation, and the drawer slid open silently.
Inside was everything they’d left behind.
Banded stacks of cash—euros, dollars, and Swiss francs, all high-denomination bills.
Four passports in names that felt like strangers now: Ellie Masters, Catherine Durand, Sofia Renaldi, Alessandra Bianchi.
Women who had never really existed except on paper and in hotel registers across Europe.
The sight of them made her chest tight. She’d been all of them once, slipping in and out of identities like changing outfits.
And there, nestled in black velvet at the back of the drawer, was the icon.